No doubt you are among the millions of readers of this blog who toss and turn, night after night, wondering what to get me for Christmas.
As a public service, please allow me to put your minds at ease. I am easy to please. Any thoughtful trinket you may wish to present to me will be appreciated, with the exception of the following:
1. Barack Obama Chia Bust -- You might think I'm making this up, but such an atrocity is on the shelves. For reasons too numerous to mention, I do not want one. And no commemorative plates, either.
2. Hair care products -- Sadly, I am fast approaching the point where these are unnecessary. If I do receive any hair care products for Christmas, I will probably just re-gift them to John Kerry or Donald Trump.
3. Lottery Tickets -- Is there any crappier present than a lottery ticket? Scratch it and throw it away...wheeee! I've always considered the lottery a stealth tax on foolish people -- please don't make me a party to that! If I am ever hit by lightning, I will know is it time to buy a lottery ticket, because I will have the same chances of winning the lottery as I did of getting struck by the lightning.
4. Speedo Swim Trunks -- Though I have worked diligently to maintain myself in peak physical condition over the years, it is unbecoming to flaunt it. Modesty dictates that I keep my rock-hard physique appropriately covered lest I cause a riot at the beach.
5. Fruitcake -- The phantom terror of every Christmas season. How can you eat something that never deteriorates? Who knows how old that thing is? I've heard stories that archeologists found pieces of perfectly preserved fruit cake in the stomach of King Tut, and they still tasted just fine. It's the re-gifting item that keeps on giving, year after year after year.
6. Star Certificate -- Every year I hear these commercials. For only $54 you can name a star after anyone you wish. All names will be registered with the International Star Registry. You get a customized certificate! Right. If you're going to present me with such a lame gift, at least upgrade me to planet status. Stars are so last year.
7. European Shoulder Bag -- Let me be clear: although I am totally secure in my male identity, and in touch with my inner woman, I have to draw the line somewhere. You can call it a shoulder bag, but Seinfeld had it right: it's a man-purse. No way, Jose. I can handle the fat wallet. I can even handle a fanny-pack. But no man-purse, please!
Now that you know what to avoid, let the shopping begin. I can't wait for you to surprise me.
